by Elaine Young
Chapter 26
Libby
Libby heard her name being called and she realised that the only other person in Venice who would know her name was Dougie. A rational voice inside her whispered that she should not get too far from the crowd around the graveside. However, she was curious and she thought that nothing could happen in daylight with other people around. If Dougie was there on his own and in disguise, she reasoned, maybe he had escaped from those men and needed help.
As she rounded a large moss-covered sepulchre, strong hands grabbed her and covered her mouth before yanking her some distance from where they had caught her. When they had got some way away behind yet another tomb, they wrestled her to the ground. She realised instantly that it was the man from the train who was holding her. Dougie wasn’t there. She didn’t have time to utter a word, and she tried to wriggle out of the hands that held her. Her captor issued a quick instruction and the second man pulled off his disguise. Within a moment they had put tape over her mouth and were covering her face with the mask. Her hands were bound in front of her and the red silk cloak covered her completely. A large black hat was put on her head and pulled down over the mantilla that was placed so as to conceal her hair. The sequined mask didn’t fit her face correctly and she could hardly see through the eye holes.
She tried frantically to wrench herself free, but soon realised that it was fruitless to try. Without warning, they pulled her forward. She was aware that they must be slipping from one hiding place to another, because they ran and stopped several times. In the distance she could hear her name being called, realised it was Michel’s voice and she began to pull against the restraining hands, tears of frustration and fear running down her cheeks. The tape was pulling the skin around her mouth and she fought down rising terror. Suddenly she felt a gun pressed against her side.
A rasping French-accented voice spoke softly, close to her ear, ‘Don’t even try to run. We will shoot anyone who comes near before you have run ten steps.’ His stinking breath, redolent of tobacco and garlic assailed her nostrils. She was glad that she was wearing the mask because she determined she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing that she was petrified. Then one of them called out in Italian, presumably to the keeper at the gate, because she heard a crackly voice with his clucking response. Finally she was bundled into a boat. She heard the motor kick over a couple of times, and then they were off. She could feel the cold air forcing its way into the holes in the mask, making her eyes water. She didn’t want to think about Michel; she knew he’d be anxious about her and the thought of him made despair rise up in her throat and threaten to choke her. Her heart was hammering so hard it was almost suffocating her and she was shivering with fear as much as with cold.
Libby had no idea of where they could be taking her. She knew one man was sitting very close to her, steering the boat. Faintly she could hear him whistling through his teeth. The mask had shifted slightly and she could see the second man was sitting facing them with his back to the wind, his gun held casually on his lap. She could just make out the city ahead, but the boat made a huge sweep to the left and continued around the south of the Arsenale.
Then everything went black as the man at her side tied something around her eyes and she was forced to lie down on the floor of the boat, covered with a sack. It had a bit of dirty water swilling around and the combined smell of fish and diesel made her feel sick. She fought to keep calm. They obviously didn’t want her to see where they were going or be seen by a casual onlooker.
After what seemed an age, the boat chugged into a small canal. The engine was throttled back and they drifted for a short distance before she became aware of the sound of a metal gate being rolled open. They cut the motor and in the sudden silence they floated into a large cavernous area as the gate rattled shut behind them. She was manhandled out of the boat onto a jetty and led up a sloping walkway. They pulled off the hat and mantilla, as well as the mask, so that she would be able to see to walk by herself. At the top of the slope they went through a large door and entered a high-ceilinged hallway. Although she was still very frightened, at least it was warmer inside the building. She was led through endless passages and down several flights of stairs until finally she was shoved through a doorway and she fell awkwardly on the floor, but with her mouth taped she couldn’t scream. There were no windows and the crumbling plaster and mouldy odour made her realise that they must be in a cellar. No chance of escape from here. The badly lit room was empty except for someone sitting on the parquet floor with his hands tied. It was Dougie.
She was rudely dragged to her feet and as they did so, she tried to catch Dougie’s eye, but he dropped his head so that he did not have to look at her. First they tore off the duct tape that covered her mouth and it was all she could do not to yell with the pain of it, then they pulled the enveloping silk cloak off her and manoeuvred her back onto the floor, before tying her ankles.
Seeing Dougie was almost as much of a shock as being caught in this way, and for a moment she was hardly aware of the forceful way the two men handled her. She was taken aback to see how totally defeated he looked. She calculated that if they had caught him when he had jumped off the train, he had been with them since Thursday night; today was Tuesday and she was just astonished that he was still alive if they had ill-treated him the way it appeared they had. He didn’t try to move when they came in nor did he utter a sound. It was as if he had totally given up and had lost any will to take charge of his own fate. Their captors didn’t speak to them, but they conferred amongst themselves and agreed that they should tell Le Patron immediately that the girl was here.
‘Dougie,’ she whispered when the men had left the room and locked the door behind them. He didn’t seem to have heard her. She tried again.
‘Dougie. What happened to you?’ There was a long silence, then he lifted his head but he couldn’t meet her eyes.
‘I am so sorry,’ was all he said.
‘Dougie. Look at me and tell me how you got here. I thought you were dead.’
‘I will be soon. They are going to kill us, you know. I heard them talking.’
‘What did they say?’
‘They said they were going to take us on board a boat as hostages and when we were out at sea they were going to drop us overboard.’
‘On board what?’
‘They’re all leaving here by boat, I imagine, as soon as they get that parcel.’
‘Well, it seems they have gone to a lot of trouble to keep us alive so far. What happened when you jumped off the train? Was it you who pulled the emergency cord?’
‘I had to get off the train and the only way I could think of was to stop it.’ He hung his head. ‘It didn’t help anyhow. They caught up with me and dragged me here to help them get the Prof’s parcel. I made the mistake of trying to get rid of them when they caught me by telling them that you had it. Unfortunately I saw your hotel address briefly when I was looking at your luggage on the rack and they . . . they got it out of me,’ he mumbled.
‘Did they hurt you?’
He lifted his chin in a half-hearted nod. His face was puffy and his one eye was swollen shut. In spite of her anger, she felt a surge of pity for him.
‘I’m still alive anyway. But it’s been such a messy business. I wish I had never got involved in the first place. It seemed like such a joke, spying on the Prof for the Front Nationale, and now he’s dead. And I am so scared . . .’
‘So it was you who killed him!’ She didn’t want to tell him that Ari had survived the attack. Let him stew for a bit, she thought furiously.
‘No, I didn’t shoot him. I got to his place intending to get the parcel from him, but he was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.’
‘And you did . . . what?’ the question was an icy shard
‘I ran away . . .’ he said this so softly, she had to strain to hear him.
‘What were you thinking? Playing spies . . . whatever for? You’re supposed to be an adult for goodness sake
! I should say you asked for this!’
He grimaced, and then he said reluctantly, ‘I got involved with the FN on campus and they were interested in the Prof. They wanted to get something important that he had found, something to do with a man they call Le Patron. It seemed harmless . . .’
‘Who is Le Patron?’
Dougie jerked his chin at the ceiling. ‘The big boss. He’s upstairs.’ He hesitated a moment. Then, ‘I’m so sorry to have got you mixed up in this.’
‘Well, sorry doesn’t help much in this situation. But what if I did bring it with me? What then?’
‘It may just cool them down and Le Patron can get what he wants. Perhaps they’ll let us go, who knows . . .’
‘And if I didn’t?’
‘I don’t know if they will believe you, because I told them I gave it to you to bring with you. They think you are my accomplice.’
‘For goodness sake! I’ve been at a funeral all morning. They should know, after all. I certainly didn’t know they were going to kidnap me so that I could have brought the jolly thing with me!’
‘Well, if you have it at your hotel or somewhere, maybe they’ll let you fetch it. And then, maybe they’ll let us go.’
In that moment she wished with all her heart that her hands were free so that she could box his ears. Then she realised that she was in for trouble, no matter what happened.
‘Who is Le Patron? I mean . . . what’s his name?’
‘I don’t really know. Some old guy who acts like the Mafia. I think he is the bleeding devil in person.’
‘Tell me what happened to you after you jumped out of the train.’
Painfully he told her how they had caught him and brought him to Venice, how they had gone to her hotel in the afternoon when they arrived there and left the note.
‘Did you and your pals search my room Dougie, I mean, during the day . . .?’
He shook his head. ‘No! How could we do that? For starters, we had no idea what room you were in, and we could never have got past the stupid concierge in any case . . .’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘We hung around until the evening. They have a kind of a flat there and the guys slept after they tied me up. Then we tried to find you but you weren’t at your hotel. Later they brought me here and I met Le bloomin’ Patron,’ he ended bitterly. After a moment he went on, ‘we went to Mayer’s friend’s house and we found out he’s dead too.’
‘Yes, your friends that caught me at the funeral of that lovely old man!’ she said heatedly. Dougie flinched.
‘They didn’t do it, I promise you . . . although . . .’ he stopped and raised a shoulder in a shrug. He didn’t add that he thought Pierre and the others were quite capable of killing anyone who got in their way. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. He was obviously afraid of their captors and the condition he was in made her very apprehensive. He turned away from her, hunched himself into a foetal position and closed his eyes.
As she sat there, she thought about what Dougie had said. If he could be believed, someone else had killed Ettore Bragadin. Could it really have been Lefevre? Could he have been the person who had searched her hotel room? He knew the name of her hotel. He might have taken a chance when she was out, before they met at Florian’s. But why? What role, if any, did he play in the whole affair? If only they could speak to Ari and find out if he knew something they didn’t. She had to believe that she would get out of here and be able to ask those questions. She consciously counted the blocks of mossy parquet in the floor so as not to think of whether Dougie was right about them being killed. She was chilled to the bone and very hungry, but she found her eyes drooping despite her intense discomfort. Suddenly the door opened and the two jailers entered and hauled her to her feet.
‘Where are you taking me?’ She tried unsuccessfully to suppress a shiver of fear.
‘Le Patron wants to see you,’ one of them said without further explanation. She looked down at Dougie, who stared back with terror in his eyes.
She was brought to another room that was very sparsely furnished. The cheap wooden desk and threadbare sofa that stood on discoloured parquet in the middle of the room were further diminished by the generous proportions of the once gracious salon. Pale patches on the walls spoke of paintings recently removed. Through the uncurtained window she was surprised to see that it was still light outside, although she had no idea what the time could be. As she was ushered through the door, Dubois was impatiently opening and shutting drawers in the desk; he yanked a bell cord that was hanging from the ceiling, and the woman she had seen with Dubois at the café, oh so long ago it seemed, came into the room.
‘Find some paper and a pen!’ he ordered. The older woman shot him a look of dislike and left the room without a word. Dubois noticed Libby for the first time and his eyes widened momentarily.
‘Well, well. So it is you that has caused all the trouble! Did you enjoy your breakfast that morning, Mademoiselle? If I had but known that you had my property on you then, a lot of nastiness would have been avoided.’ He smiled dourly. ‘We realise now that your friend the lawyer, Gaillard, must have it and we are sending a note to him.’ He spoke courteously but there was an underlying menace in his voice.
‘How do you know about Michel Gaillard?’ she asked. Dubois smiled.
‘My men were watching the apartment of the unfortunate Bragadin and they followed you and Gaillard from there.’
‘And in any case that parcel is not yours. It belongs to the Gaillard family and you have no right to it,’ she said lifting her chin.
He made no comment. During what seemed an age, while Dubois just sat there and tapped his fingers on the desk, Libby may as well not have been there. He didn’t look at her or speak to her again. She didn’t want to engage him in conversation either, so she looked about the room and wondered why Dubois was in this very shabby place at all. Eventually the older woman appeared and slapped the paper and pen in front of him before flouncing out of the room. Libby was made to stand in front of his desk as he wrote. She couldn’t read it from her vantage point as he wrote in French and his handwriting was almost indecipherable upside down. She deliberately schooled her expression to one of indifference.
He looked up at her. ‘You don’t think he’ll part with my property? How about exchanging it for your life?’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Believe me, he’ll hand it over.’ Dubois signed the letter with a flourish and he read it to her. ‘Well, do you think he will care that you will be killed, Mademoiselle? I certainly hope for your sake as well as mine, that he will trade you for the album.’ He handed the envelope to one of the men who had brought her there. ‘Take this to Gaillard’s place. Don’t wait for a reply but follow him when he makes for the boat. Do not approach him. I want to have the parcel from his hands. And then, I believe that will be the close of this unfortunate chapter.’ He waved a dismissive hand in her direction and immediately the two men grabbed her and pulled her roughly back downstairs to the cellar.
